Love The Way You Lie
by AnGelFacE S2
Summary: There are always cracks; a crack in the wall, a small crack in the corner of the photo frame sitting on your desk. Someone finally sees them forming inside you; and then you start think that life may not be that bad after all. R&R G/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Another G/OC story! Because I love G so much. Going to watch the episode 'Stand-off', pretty excited to see it tonight though. ^.^  
So, enough of my randomness and on with the story.**

**I own no one except Dale.**

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~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
_Just gonna stand there and watch me burn  
But that's alright because I like the way it hurts  
Just gonna stand there and hear me cry  
But that's alright because I love the way you lie  
I love the way you lie  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~_

There are always cracks; a crack in the wall, a small crack in the corner of the photo frame sitting on your desk. Sometimes you see the cracks in your eyes as you look in the mirror. It's hard to think that you stay normal when you work in the NCIS office of special projects; that the bodies you see on an almost daily basis don't cause some sort of psychological effect on you. The knowing that anyone of you may be the next ones dead. The psychologist on the team, Nate Getz, always tries to get you to open up to him; he gives you that look which tells you that he knows your not okay, but doesn't push it any further.

The only other girl on the team, Kensi Blye, tells you about her latest date and you pretend that you care. But your mind is a million miles away in the other direction. You think about the wide, dead eyes staring back at you as you hold the recently fired gun in your hands. The smell of gun powder fills your nostrils as you slowly walk over to the dead assailant to make sure that he's truly dead. You kick his gun away and check his pulse as a half hearted attempt to make the situation better then it really was.

You pretend to the guys on the team, Sam Hanna and G Callen, that you're okay and you don't need any help. Because you like to pretend that you're one of them.

_You're one of the team_.

You think that you need to prove yourself to them because you know that you're the youngest, that you're the baby of the group once again.

So you tell yourself every day that the guns don't bother you; that the mounting piles of paperwork which never let you go home on time don't make you secretly wish you had a better job; a safer job. You tell everyone that you're fine when you know you're not, and that trip to the ER at one am because you're feeling sicker than usual, or that wound on your head that hasn't stopped bleeding since you've gotten home, doesn't bother you that much; because it's one of those things that they will never know.

The operations leader, Henrietta 'Hetty' Lange, gives you one of her knowing looks to you as you pass her in the morning. You think she knows about the sleepless nights and the nightmares which follow almost every case. But then you wonder how she could know, she was just another average person. Another person which you have fooled with your mask. She asks how your night was and you reply that it was fun. You say that you watched a few movies with a girlfriend and that manicures and pedicures were the norm of the night.

You know she probably doesn't believe you, but it makes you feel slightly better.

The techie, Eric Beal, never knows any different. Because you're not exactly best friends. You associate with each other, go out to clubs, but that's as far as it goes. You wonder if he has nightmares, if the things you see traumatize him as much as they do you. You hope that they don't happen to him, because he seems like a nice enough guy who doesn't really deserve it. You see the worry in his eyes as you walk over to him with another smile on your face; another one of _your_ smiles. The one which showed a happy-go-lucky front, yet there was no real emotion behind it.

He asks you if you're okay and you nod. You don't want to bother him with your problems because you think that the burden you carry shouldn't be on someone else's shoulder. He seems okay with this answer and he turns around as the rest of the team pile into the room.

You look over at the team leader; the orphan, _the natural chameleon_; his blue eyes blaring into your grey; and you think, just for a moment, that he sees the cracks which are forming inside you…

You hope that it's different, that it's not like the rest of them. You hope that you've changed someone's life for the better. But when you see the cold stares the victims of crime give you when you tell them that a loved one has been locked away; or that a loved one had been involved in a terrorist ring; it's then you realise that you have changed someone's life.

You've changed a mother's life because she will no longer fall asleep next to her husband.  
You've changed a daughter's life because daddy will no longer kiss her goodnight.

You promise someone that you would bring someone home safe and sound; so when you have to tell them that that said person had been killed in the crossfire, you dread to see the look of hate in their face; the look of despair. And, in some cases, you hate having to call that ambulance because that person had collapsed from the news.

You remember the good cases so clearly, so vividly. Mainly because there are so few of them that they aren't that hard to keep track of. The bad days just blur together into one until you just start to work on autopilot when another Naval officer is found dead, or Navy SEALS are once again involved in a drug trafficking ring.

Sometimes you wonder if he sees you; if he _actually_ knows you. Knows who you are; what you do, what you're about to do. Because when he sees you in the morning he looks at you; he's not looking through you like the rest of them do; but, before you register it, he looks away; as though he's scared of what will happen if he looks at you for a moment longer.

And you love him for that.

You wonder how long it took for you to finally realize that you have feelings for him. Was it days ago? Months ago? Or has it always been there and you've just never thought about it until now.

It's the gentle gazes he throws you, the small touches, the way he protectively places you behind him when you're both getting shot at. It was those little things which make you wonder if he feels the same way.

You pretend that it doesn't bother you when he's undercover and he tells a woman that he loves her. Because you know that he's only saying it so they would trust him; open up to him. But it still doesn't make it hurt any less. When he comes striding in to the building in the mornings; his voice echoing throughout the office; his usual arguments with Sam making you laugh; he throws you a look and you swear your heart stops in his chest.

He knows how to cheer you up; if it's from singing show tunes at two in the morning when you can't go home or sleep, to telling you some ridiculous story about him and Sam.

When you fall asleep on the office couch and you feel someone place a blanket on you; you feel yourself smile slightly.

And it's that which makes you think that things may get better.


	2. Chapter 2

**OMG! Thank-you all so much for your reviews! I honestly didn't think that this was that good but you all put my mind at ease with that one. ^.^ And for _Scout06_- this is actually from my OC Dale's POV.  
I really hope you enjoy this next chapter!  
Awww, my mum's so sweet. Even 12,000 miles away from home, she still sends me text messages. ^.^  
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**How good was Stand-off last night?  
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**Still not owning anything except Dale.**

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~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
_I can't tell you what it really is  
I can only tell you what it feels like  
And right now it's a steel knife in my windpipe  
I can't breathe but I still fight while I can fight  
As long as the wrong feels right it's like I'm in flight  
__~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~_

You're never going to tell him how much he actually scares you.

When you're both staring down the barrel of a gun, when he puts pressure on your chest ever so slightly to make sure he's only just in front of you. You want to push him out the way; you've seen him get shot once, and you don't want him to have it happen again.  
You assume he does it because he feels responsibility of you; because you're the baby, no matter what anyone says. Deeks is the new guy, but he's more experienced in the field then you.

When it's all over and there's another body laying at least five feet away from you; he turns to you; his blue eyes showing some sort of remorse. He asks you if you're okay and you say that you are. Because it's you isn't it? You've come to notice that there's no such thing as truths and half-truths in this job. Yet, everyone trusts everyone because you've all built this façade; this pretend world where nothing bothers you. That the guns and the bullets and the fake identity's don't keep you up at night. That this job doesn't make you check your bed, closet and every room in your house in case someone's waiting for you; someone who you've pissed off with your alias' and lies.

As night falls across Los Angeles, as everyone gets ready to leave, you're wondering if you should go home. Because there's no doubt in your mind that you hate being alone; you hate listening to your own breathing as you stare at the ceiling.  
It shows you how alone you truly are.

There's a knife under your pillow, just in case, you keep telling yourself. Just in case of what though? You're not too sure. You feel yourself falling once again, into the black abyss which brings you nightmares which wake you up drenched in sweat and screaming for anyone who's listening.

You wake up fully because you can't ever sleep; it's the insomnia that kills you; not the bullet wounds in your right shoulder. The painkillers on the bench are tempting you to take them; because your arm hurts more then you would like to admit.  
So slowly, you pull them into your hand and pour yourself an amount that you know will put the pain in your arm to rest, and hopefully allow you to sleep.

With a small glass of water, you down all four of them in one swallow. It's painful, but you don't care. You walk back into your lounge and you rest on the couch, your legs are hanging off the side and there's some show on the cable network you don't really care about.

All you can think about is how the pain killers make you float, like you can't fully comprehend the thoughts travelling around your mind.  
The feeling is bliss to you and you don't want it to stop. Your eyes drift closed, and for the first time in a long time, you sleep without nightmares.

That's how it all begins for you; it only took four pills before the habit took over. You wanted that feeling all the time, because it's so much better then what you really feel. Instead of pain, all you feel is light, you feel so much better; so much more relaxed.

You take them every day until you don't have any left, and even when you don't have any you somehow manage to find more. You become more reckless because you like the adrenaline you get from it; painkillers plus adrenaline equals no more pain, no more feeling like you're drowning.

You know everyone's talking about you when you get back from the latest mission. Because they stop talking as soon as you walk into the bull pen; you feel the eyes on you, the worried looks you get from them. You don't want their looks, their pity for you.

The downward spiral continues after a particularly bad case ended with a child executed and Kensi in hospital with a bullet in her right leg.  
The alcohol numbs the pain; drink after drink until you can no longer form any type of thought. Your speech is slurred and you don't know how, nor do you know why, but you some how end up on someone's couch at two in the morning when the pills and the alcohol come flying back up your throat and into a strategically placed bucket between your legs; and he's there rubbing your back keeping your hair out your face.

It's been four months since you first started this kind of behaviour and you're not going to get any better. You know that, yet you wonder if they know that. You wonder if he knows about the constant need for air, the constant need for someone to come and lift the weight off her chest because you don't know if you can do it yourself.  
This job messes you up and you don't know how to untangle yourself fro the web you've made; the one you've accidentally caught yourself in.

When the tears fall in the dimmest light in the darkest of nights, you wonder if you're ever going to climb out of this hole which you dug. You're independent on the pain killers to get you through the days; the days which you can no longer tell. You're face has changed; you're more pale, the dark circles under your eyes get darker, your body starts to wither away and the weight of the gun is heavier then it was when you were that young; starry eyed probie.

You start to realise that this job is more then that, it's a lifestyle. You don't even know who you are any more. You don't keep in contact with your family; the family who looked after you when all hell broke loose, when you had no where to go; and your sister, the baby sister you promised to never leave; she suddenly has a baby of her own. She's still a baby; she's still your baby sister. And now she's a Mom to a beautiful boy.

You don't know where it all went wrong; the lines have started to blur between right and wrong. You don't know if you can do it any more, if you can bury another body, if you can pump another bullet into someone. And you express this one night; when he's once again found you in some seedy bar in down town Los Angeles and he's trying to lead you out.

He promises you that you'll be able to get through it, because he's not going to let you do it by yourself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the review guys! I also don't know when I'll be updating next; I'm sick at the moment and I'm doped up on antibiotics. Trust me to get sick on holidays. =/**

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~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
_High off of love, drunk from my hate,  
It's like I'm huffing pain and I love it the more I suffer, I suffocate  
And right before I'm about to drown, she resuscitates me  
She fucking hates me and I love it.  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~_

You're an idiot.

There's absolutely no doubt in your mind about that. God, you had such a good life ahead of you. You could have gone to university; studied journalism or psychology; just like you dreamed when you were seventeen.  
Then you so stupidly decided to go into law enforcement; much to your family's dismay. Most likely because you don't remember a time when the police weren't arresting a member of your family. Your brother spent seven years inside from the time you were sixteen, until just over seven months ago when he was released.

You don't know what for,

But then again, you don't think you really want to know what for. It's your decisions which lead you to this point. Everything that you've been doing in your life has been leading up to this. This one moment in your life when you hope to change.

You wanted this to be a change. This job; NCIS, you thought it was going to be amazing, you thought it was glamour, undercover work; who wouldn't want that kind of job. To become someone else. Someone you're not. But then it just goes downhill. From the moment you stepped though the doors, your life had been turned upside down. You no longer had family; you spend Christmas and Thanksgiving alone.

The days turn into nights and the days turn into months which turn into years. Everything just blurs together for you. It's the same routine every single day. You get up, get showered, go to work; another identity, fight for your life, then come home; usually battered and bruised but you're home.

You've been told that the mortality rate in this job is pretty high and that agents die young; but you don't really care any more; when the time comes for you to come home in a body bag, you'll welcome it with open arms.

In the three years as an NCIS agent, you've become that little bit too tired to keep fighting your head. You always told yourself you weren't going to become one of those washed out agents who retire at age forty because they can't deal with the horrors of the jobs any more. But, as each day goes by, you start to realise that maybe you will become one of those agents.

It's the nights when he comes over that you feel your façade slipping from your face; when your slipping away from the life before you, when your life at NCIS seems like someone else's; he's there. You don't need to ask him what he's doing there because you already know.

You're the baby; and he feels it's his responsibility to look after you. He sits down and you don't know when the tears started.  
But once they did, they didn't stop.  
There are people who were once in your life; but who then walked away. They're the people you try so hard to forget, those who you fall in love with then force yourself to forget about. They're the things you cry about at night.

You wonder how he knows when you need someone; someone to hold you when the nightmares get so bad that you don't know if you can ever sleep again. In the house; the clock on the wall ticks too loud; the shadows on the walls are too large and you don't know if it's all in your head.

The pills take away the pain, just like they're meant too. And you see something in the way he looks at you, and you wonder if he knows about the screaming and the shaking. If he knows about the way you run the blade under you pillow across the tips of your fingers, just to see the blood oozing out.  
Because you've become so numb in this life that you can't feel anything any more. And it scares you to death because you don't know how to free yourself. How to feel something. _Anything_ would do. Hurt, anger, sadness.

But nothing is there. You can't feel anything. You're just numb from the bullets flying at your head, from the loss of your own identity. You don't want to do it any more. You want to forget about the lifeless eyes and damaged families.  
Yet you can't.  
Because they're always there, in your dreams, in your thoughts, even in your very being. Their death shows in your face whenever you look in the mirror.

His arms are gently rubbing your arm as you lay your head in his lap; you know that he's leaving in the morning if he stays longer then usual; tonight; it's just two people, two people who come from two completely different worlds who have been brought together by one job.

It's the one job which has slowly consumed you both.

The world spins around you as the pills finally take hold, you close your eyes to try and stop the light fixture on the ceiling from spinning around and around. There's a hand on your head and whispered words of comfort in your ear.  
He must see the pain on your face, see the feeling of nausea which makes you wonder what else he can see.

The tears which you were trying so hard to stop from falling falls down your cheeks before you have a chance to catch them. You need him and there's no doubt about it. He tells you that you need to stop this self-destructive behaviour, that he's there to help you every step of the way if you let him. But you don't know; because you never do.

_Sometimes you wonder if he sees you; if he actually knows you. Knows who you are; what you do, what you're about to do. Because when he sees you in the morning he looks at you; he's not looking through you like the rest of them do; but, before you register it, he looks away; as though he's scared of what will happen if he looks at you for a moment longer._

You listen to the whispered promises and feel the gentle caresses on your arm as you slowly drift to sleep; the feeling in your stomach makes you want to curl up and die; because you're ashamed of yourself, you're ashamed of what you're doing. The drug abuse, the alcohol and the reckless behaviour.  
You decide that tomorrow morning; you're going to Nate.

And you whisper thank you to him as you slowly fall asleep. For the first time in a very long time; you sleep through the night.  
And when you wake the next morning; he's no where around and you wonder if last night was just a dream.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews! They mean the world to me. 

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own anything 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
_Wait! Where you going?  
I'm leaving you,  
No you ain't. Come back, we're running right back.  
Here we go again.  
It's so insane cause when its going good its going great.  
I'm superman with the wind at his back, she's Louis Lane..._

Sometimes you wish that the music would blow your ear drums out so you wouldn't have to hear it any more. The pain is almost unbearable. So what you do is dance until the once loud thoughts, the screams of your subconscious clawing though your mind; they soon become a distant memory that you don't want to remember. The sweat pours down your face as you close your eyes and loose yourself.  
And sometimes you don't want to be found again. 

You don't know how you ended up in this position. How at three o'clock in the morning your standing on the pier, the wrong side of the cold metal railing watching as the angry waves crash into the wood. You think about how easy it would be to let go and just fall; because all you've been doing your whole life is fall. You've fallen in love, you've fallen from buildings, through windows, on floors, you've fallen into the black abyss that you don't know if you can climb back out of. 

What you also don't know is how the hell he found you here; how the hell he knew you were here to begin with. But he seems to know your train of thought, because he's pleading with you to come back onto the other side; you look up at him, his blue eyes look almost frightened. It's something that you rarely see in them. There's some other underlying feeling there, yet you can't recognise it because it's been so long since you had seen it. Your heart beats faster and you hate yourself for letting him affect you as he does. Your angry at yourself as the tears fall. 

Your heart breaks at the sound of him pleading with you. Begging you to come with him; to grab his hand and climb over the railing back to safety. You hate yourself because you've reduced him to this. Begging. He says that he needs you more then you realise he does; and you once again hate yourself. You try to block out his voice because you know he's getting to you_; he _knows he's getting to you. So he keeps talking; telling you that he knows about the drugs and the risk taking behaviour. 

He tells you he knows because he's been there himself and that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. That he will help you find it if you would just let him. But you've always been the stubborn type; so you once again try to block him out. You can't listen to him any more. You're finding out that the more you stand here, the more you listen to him, the more your resolve is weakening. You realise that he needs you more then you need him. It's the way it's always been. 

From your first day as an NCIS agent; when your eyes were so wide, so innocent; from the days when you saw the older agents, all worn out, tired and looking like they want to give up on the world. You swore to yourself that you would never become like them. No one would see you through those eyes because you would always be the strong one, always be the one to keep your cool in hard situations.  
Now when you see a new agent walk through the doors, you see their face and you know what they're thinking. They're seeing you in the same way you once saw the people around you. Tired, sick and so disturbed by the things you've seen that you're not sure if it's really worth the nightmares which follow. 

You look at him with your hair blowing all over your face, with your grey eyes so tired that you're not sure if you can keep them open a second longer; his blue eyes have so much fear in them that you're so scared yourself. You've made him like this; you're making him beg for you to come to him. Because, as much as you would hate to admit it, he knows you better then you know yourself.  
It's probably from all those years of observing you in different situations. He's watched you crumble in front of him the day Dom died. He's watched as you've put up with being concussed, shot, beaten, over and over again and yet he's watched as you've bounced back every time. 

He's also watched as you've changed your identity more times then you care to really admit. He knows you've lost yourself somewhere between the bullets and the fake lives.  
Ever so gently, you feel his hand wrap around your own; and you realise that you're no longer alone in the fight against yourself. That you never were alone in it. Ever.  
He's been there for you every step of the way. 

You don't know how the hell it happened or even when it happened; what you do know is that it's all here, right now; standing in front of you. It's hands are wrapped around yours. Everything that you've ever wanted. To be safe, warm, protected from the harsh reality of the outside world was standing right before you and it's then you turn around to face him. You see it there in his face; the soft gazes he used to throw you in the office. The realisation hits you like a hurricane; he loves you more then you have ever loved him. He needs you; he craves you as much as you crave him. 

You don't want to open up to him, but your resolve is failing. You climb over the barrier and into his arms. There are gentle words and the softest touches as he runs his hand though your hair. You wonder if it's all just a dream, if he's really here in your arms; or if it's another one of your stupid hallucinations. You realise that this wasn't the life you wanted. You wanted one where you were there with your sister as she gave birth to a fatherless child; you wanted one where your mother supported you no matter what you chose to do; one where you spent Christmas and Thanksgiving in the embrace of the people you love. 

You know that due to this choice of life, that you may never get that. Because the chances are higher then usual that but tomorrow, you may be dead. You decide that it's better to live now then to live tomorrow. Because knowing your line of work, and the people you've pissed off over the years, you realise that you may not have a tomorrow.  
And when you feel his lips pressed upon your own; you remember that cracks can be sealed, tunnels can be lit up, wells can become shallow puddles. And you're no longer drowning in the pain and sorrow of your heart. Because someone's taken away all the water.

**Author's Note:** Thanks all for reading; I've realised that the last paragraph may not make any sense, but I don't care. It's my story and I'm quite proud of it. ^.^  
Thanks again guys!


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** I know I said that the last chapter was the last one; But I just figured 'Hell, I'm just going to keep writing until the whole song is finished' And now I have actual inspiration.  
So, I'm dedicating this chapter to my beautiful fiancé. Yes; you are my fiancé. You asked me to marry you, I said yes. You now owe me a ring. XD

And I also dedicate this to all those reviewers who keep telling me how good this story is. I love you all loads and I hope this chapter is up to your standards.

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**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
**_But when it's bad it's awful, I feel so ashamed I snapped  
Who's that dude? I don't even know his name  
I laid hands on her, I'll never stoop so low again  
I guess I don't know my own strength_

It pains you to realise how much you need him.

It's almost as though if he were to vanish you would fall in on yourself. As if there's no one else to keep you standing up. The nights when his arms are wrapped tightly around your waist, the nights when his breath is on your neck and his hands are splayed across your stomach; you feel so much more vulnerable. You've never felt it before; you've always been the strong one; the one who was always keeping everyone happy while you were standing behind, faking a smile because you knew no other way.

You hate the way he makes you feel. Almost like you don't need the drugs nor the alcohol; but somewhere in the back of your mind, you know you do. Because just because he's told you he loves you, just because you both no longer spend your nights alone; the bodies are there, the fake identities are still there; the situation is still there. And it pains you to admit that you don't know if you can handle it any more.

He's convinced you to talk to Nate; convinced you to pour your heart and soul into the one person you wish you could confide in. Yet you don't. You both just sit there patiently. You can see that he wants you to talk to him; wants you to open up and tell him all your problems; but you can't. You feel ashamed by the prospect that this job has one over you. He gives you a tight smile as you stand up; you feel like you've wasted his time and you let your thoughts known. He tells you not to worry as you leave.

Callen doesn't know any different; Nate certainly doesn't tell him about your failed session, and you never bring it up. And for that you're more then thankful.

You go undercover with a strange man and the way he touches you; the way he presses a kiss to your neck stirs something inside you; as if you want to take a risk, live life on the wild side. It's not in your description to sleep with him; but you do. Because his rough hands and heated kisses make you feel something the drugs and alcohol don't. You don't feel guilty when Callen's face pops into your mind the next morning, nor do you feel guilty when you're woken up with someone pressing their lips upon your own.

You've been reprimanded and you don't care. You just stand there and take it while the director blows his lid at you. Telling you that what you did was wrong and careless. You don't care. You're too tired to care.  
You can feel his eyes boring into the back of your head. You're almost scared to turn around because you know what's going to happen when you do. You're going to be faced with his blue eyes, and everyone's going to clear out and leave you to take the wrath you deserve.

He doesn't deserve what you're doing to him; he's trying so hard to help you, to bring you back from the brink of destruction, yet you're finding it so hard to let go of the life you once had.  
He loves you; you can see it when he looks at you. When his blue eyes meet yours when everyone has gone for the night, you can see it when someone's firing at you, when someone threatens you. You can see the protectiveness on his face.

Yet when you look at him now; you see pain, something you don't want to cause him. Something you wished so hard not to cause him.  
The anger is radiating from him; his eyes are boring into yours and, for the first time in your life, you're actually scared.  
He says no words, he only looks at you with one look, and leaves you standing in the middle of the ops room. It's so silent, it's horrible. The silence is almost deafening.

You find yourself in his arms that night. Not your superior's arms. No, he's not taking you back. He didn't have to say it; it was his look. The look he gave you before he left. Instead you find yourself in the arms of the drug dealer who caused you all this pain to begin with. Who caused you to loose the people you loved.  
There's no love involved in this tryst. Just like there's no love lost when you leave before the sun comes up. It's just a way to feel something other then the pain which had dragged you down for so long.

Callen made you feel loved; he made you feel so special. Every time he touched you it was like you were made out of porcelain. It was something you wanted, something you needed.  
And you screwed it up; because it was what you did best. You screw things up that you have no control over. Like your emotions.

God, you miss his touches so quickly; even when you're both seated next to each other the next day, him with no idea what you've been doing. Him with no idea of the secrets you're keeping. He barely looks at you; only when he has too. And you understand. Really, you do. He had been through so much in his life, yet you don't see him doing the things you're doing. You don't see him taking drugs or sleeping with criminals.

Kensi tells you that Callen's a mess. You don't see it because he's not around you as much. But she sees it because they had been working on it together. You pretend you don't care. You screwed it up, you shagged someone you knew you shouldn't. Even though you were undercover, you know you shouldn't have done it. You loved Callen. You know that now; but he won't even stay in the same room as you. Every time you see him it's heartbreak and pain etched across his face.

You don't go back; you can never go back you've decided that night when you're once again found in the fugitive arms. When he's sleeping soundly next to you, his muscled arms wrapping around your naked waist. You know how much of a mistake this is, how much pain this is bringing on to yourself. Yet you cannot find the strength to walk away. Life's easier this way you've realised. You don't risk being hurt because there's no love involved. He knows your a cop, yet you can't find the strength to care.

He pointed a gun at you when he found out, directly between your eyes; you don't blink. You don't even waver.  
You tell him as calmly as possible that you're not like the rest of them. You prove it to him by taking drugs, by sleeping with him. He seems happy; and you, for the first time seem content.

You wish it was someone else's arms around you, you wish Callen would forgive you. You wish he would understand why you are the way you are. But you can't find the strength, not any more. You're tired. You're so exhausted from being an NCIS agent. You just want it to stop. You don't want to do it any more. You want to leave everything behind and walk away.

When you finally drift to sleep that night; when the stars are twinking high above you, when the moon light filters though the window; you wish someone else's arms were around you. You wish you didn't screw up your life so badly, you wish things were so much more different.  
But you can't turn back time.  
Not now,  
Not ever.


End file.
